So my beautiful son – my graceful, athletic, talented, gifted, fast, competitive, football-loving 11-year-old boy – was just diagnosed with a chronic blood disorder that renders him unable to participate in the contact sports he loves and relegates him to tennis, darts and bowling for the rest of his life. We’re trying to figure out how to tell him that he needs to replace his dream of playing for the NFL when he grows up with something more sedentary, more cautious, something that doesn’t involve end zones and stadiums full of cheering fans.

It could be worse, of course. At least he’s still going to grow up. But I resent having to learn about Immune Thrombocytopenic Purpura (ITP) and platelet levels and the risk of strokes and brain hemorrhages and where I should park when I take him to the hospital for evaluation and treatment. I resent having to add the Platelet Disorder Support Association’s website to my favorites list and feeling guilty that I’m resentful when it’s not like he has leukemia or requires around-the-clock medical care.

This is my beautiful Bryant, who taught me how to throw a perfect spiral years ago and runs faster than I ever could and was more masculine and athletic at the age of six than I’ve ever been and yet is sensitive and gentle and kind and empathetic and doesn’t deserve to have his dreams crushed by a f*cking sneaky b*llsh*t virus.

He still kisses his mom on the lips, for Pete’s sake. He still reaches for my hand when we’re walking in the park and carries his little sister’s backpack so she can make it to the bus stop on time and wakes us up on Saturday mornings to ask if we want breakfast in bed. It’s too early for him to learn that life’s not fair and bad sh*t happens for no reason and sometimes evil is rewarded and goodness is punished.

Having spent time in my vulnerable little boy’s hospital room, watching him sleep as an IV pumps Anti D immune globulin into his veins, I have even more respect for those parents whose children suffer from life-threatening illness and who know their way around a hospital like a chef knows his kitchen. I’ve always wondered if I would have the strength needed to calm and reassure my child, to be the rock that my family needed, to ignore my own feelings of despair and focus on doing whatever it took to help my loved ones.

They came from every corner of the stateto hear him read from his latest,which was no different than his old work.When they arrived, he was half drunk,leered at the girls, ignored the young men,told several professors to go bugger Jesus,and after an irrational monologuehe finally read three political poemshe slurred while missing whole lines,until - only slightly more awake than the audience -he finished his reading to a dead silencethat quickly changed to an ardent applause.He was a very intelligent man.He knew so long as he told peopleexactly what they wanted to hearsome would always call him a genius.

The embarrassment that is the Michigan GOP has been covered and
in some cases ridiculed by more state and national news outlets, television
personalities, websites and bloggers than I can count for refusing to allow two
female legislators to speak for a day after the women used the word “vagina” on
the House floor during a recent abortion debate.

Last night, thousands gathered on the lawn of the State
Capitol Building in Lansing to protest the Republicans’ asinine behavior and
watch female lawmakers perform “The Vagina Monologues” with playwright/feminist
Eve Ensler on the Capitol steps. I’ve
been in Lansing since 1983 and I can’t recall the last time so many folks
protested on the Capitol lawn – not even when John Engler eliminated General
Assistance back in 1991 (leading people to camp out in tents before “occupying”
was cool) or scores of bikers descended every year to disrupt, intimidate and protest
that pesky helmet law that we used to have (Governor Snyder pandered repealed
it back in April).

So now my state has replaced Florida, Arizona and even
Oklahoma as the butt of late-night jokes and the place where reasonable,
progressive, enlightened individuals dare not tread. Thanks a lot, Michigan Republicans.

On top of this, I attended a workshop today that proved to
be heavy on pointing out what’s wrong with Michigan in the current political
climate and quite light on suggesting solutions or courses of action, leaving me
swimming in malaise in the 90 degree heat on the way back to my office. If I hear one more person stand before an audience
microphone and boisterously declare, “We gotta get out and vote, people!,” I
can’t be held responsible for my actions.

“What’s the Diehl?” readers might notice that my posts have
decreased in frequency. (I used to write
something new each day; now I’m lucky if I can post a poem every Sunday.) My writing wasn’t paying the bills and my
readers were for some unknown reason opting not to click the “donate” button on
the right so it became necessary for me to secure outside employment to help
the love of my life make our mortgage payments.
As a result, I’m either too busy or too fried at the end of the day to
post as frequently as I’d like. So in
case several days pass until I get back here, suffice it to say that a) I still
support Barack Obama over Robotron Romney even though the POTUS continues to
disappoint, b) there was a time when Michigan was a forward-thinking state that
led the nation in progressive public policy, and c) vagina vagina vagina vagina
vagina vagina vagina.

In Celebration of My Uterus
Everyone in me is a bird.
I am beating all my wings.
They wanted to cut you out
but they will not.
They said you were immeasurably empty
but you are not.
They said you were sick unto dying
but they were wrong.
You are singing like a school girl.
You are not torn.

Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
and of the soul of the woman I am
and of the central creature and its delight
I sing for you. I dare to live.
Hello, spirit. Hello, cup.
Fasten, cover. Cover that does contain.
Hello to the soil of the fields.
Welcome, roots.

Each cell has a life.
There is enough here to please a nation.
It is enough that the populace own these goods.
Any person, any commonwealth would say of it,
"It is good this year that we may plant again
and think forward to a harvest.
A blight had been forecast and has been cast out."
Many women are singing together of this:
one is in a shoe factory cursing the machine,
one is at the aquarium tending a seal,
one is dull at the wheel of her Ford,
one is at the toll gate collecting,
one is tying the cord of a calf in Arizona,
one is straddling a cello in Russia,
one is shifting pots on the stove in Egypt,
one is painting her bedroom walls moon color,
one is dying but remembering a breakfast,
one is stretching on her mat in Thailand,
one is wiping the ass of her child,
one is staring out the window of a train
in the middle of Wyoming and one is
anywhere and some are everywhere and all
seem to be singing, although some can not
sing a note.

Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
let me carry a ten-foot scarf,
let me drum for the nineteen-year-olds,
let me carry bowls for the offering
(if that is my part).
Let me study the cardiovascular tissue,
let me examine the angular distance of meteors,
let me suck on the stems of flowers
(if that is my part).
Let me make certain tribal figures
(if that is my part).
For this thing the body needs
let me sing,
for the supper,
for the kissing,
for the correct
yes.

5pm on the nose. They open their mouthsAnd it rolls out: high, shrill and metallic.First the boy, then his sister. Occasionally,They both let loose at once, and I thinkOf putting on my shoes to go up and seeWhether it is merely an experimentTheir parents have been conductingUpon the good crystal, which must surelyLie shattered to dust on the floor.

Maybe the mother is still proudof the four pink lungs she nursedto such might. Perhaps, if they hitThe magic decibel, the whole buildingWill lift-off, and we'll ride to glorylike Elijah. If this is it - if this is whatTheir cries are cocked toward - let the skyPass from blue, to red, to molten gold,To black. Let the heaven we inherit approach.

Whether it is our dead in Old Testament robes,Or a door opening onto the roiling infinity of space.Whether it will bend down to greet us like a father,Or swallow us like a furnace. I'm readyTo meet what refuses to let us keep anythingFor long. What teases us with blessings,Bends us with grief. Wizard, thief, the greatWind rushing to knock our mirrors to the floor,To sweep our short lives clean. How mean

Our racket seems beside it. My stereo on shuffle.The neighbor chopping onions through a wall.All of it just a hiccough against what may neverCome for us. And the kids upstairs still at it,Screaming like the Dawn of Man, as if somethingThey have no name for has begun to insistUpon being born.

I know the GOP long ago mounted a systematic, coordinated effort to do whatever it takes to maintain or regain power and rob from the poor to give to the rich. I just didn’t know they have a name for their anti-American strategy: “Starve the Beast.”

This is why I can’t make pleasant small talk with anyone who supports today’s Republicans.

This is why I can’t understand today’s Tea Partiers.

This is why I can’t engage people on the right in polite discussions about politics and public policy.

Because in the back of my mind is the knowledge that right wingers are either a) aware that today’s GOP is truly evil and are fine with it, or b) woefully ignorant of the true nature of today’s Republican party.

On the one hand, I know nothing is clearly black or white, that life is full of gray and ambiguity and open to interpretation, that perception is reality and things aren’t always how they seem and sometimes what’s true on Tuesday may no longer be true on Thursday.

On the other hand, there is abundant, credible evidence that today’s GOP is comprised largely of people who don’t care about anyone but themselves, who are short-sighted and selfish, willing not just to spin but to lie, master manipulators or easily manipulated, whose allegiance is to themselves and their ilk and not the larger community, the country as a whole.

Yes, there are *ssh*l*s on the left too. Yes, politicians are in general only slightly more worthy of respect than reptiles. Yes, Democrats are inept and myopic and self-absorbed. But to my knowledge George Soros is no Koch Brother, Barack Obama is no Eric Cantor, and no one on the left ever pledged to drown our government in a bathtub.

I used to respect, if not agree with, conservatives. There were even some in my immediate family. But no more. There’s a huge difference between what my granddad believed, or what my dad used to believe, and what John Boehner and Newt Gingrich and Robotron Romney and Mitch McConnell stand for. I could provide specific examples and point to particular proposals and positions, but it’s not about domestic or foreign or fiscal policy. It’s not about “tax-and-spend liberals” vs. “compassionate conservatives.” It’s about good and bad, rich and poor, tolerant and intolerant, right and wrong.

Greed is wrong. Lying is wrong. Class warfare is wrong. Racism and prejudice are wrong. Starving the beast is wrong.

Regarding the Photos...

Patrick tries to obtain permission to post photos and credit the photographers but sometimes those people are unknown or unreachable. If you're a photographer who stumbles upon your work here at "What's the Diehl?," please contact him and he'll credit you or remove your image.

This is What You Should Do

About Me

Patrick Diehl, 55, has been writing professionally for more than 30 years. When he's not writing or lamenting the direction in which the planet's heading, he enjoys replacing the filling in the middle of his kids’ Oreo cookies with ranch dressing, slipping books entitled “Wok Cooking 101” and “Ukelele For Beginners” in his son’s school backpack and recording nonsensical voicemail messages for his wife and marking them “urgent.”